It Would All Start With A Simple Murder
by christineexx
Summary: <html><head></head>One-shot. A look at one of the many times that Murlough slipped through Crepsley's hands during his and Darren's stay in his hometown. Please read and review? "D</html>


_**Author's Note: This is just a quick little one-shot I put together when I got writer's block for my other Cirque FanFic… It's my first one-shot, so let me know what you think? I added in an OC— she's just a girl that Crepsley may have met while he and Darren were in his hometown. Please review? I'd really appreciate the feedback(:**_

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><p>Larten Crepsley couldn't help but let out a sigh. It was loud enough to satisfy him but quiet enough that his incoming prey wouldn't hear. He knew that he shouldn't be there, shouldn't be intervening, and most certainly should not care— but he did. He cared. So much. <em>Too <em>much. He had pretended not to for so long… but, what good had that done? Where had _that _gotten him? Even _he_ could answer those questions. It had given him a life full of pain (and a body covered in scars to prove it), and brought him right back where he started: alone, wandering the city he had grown up in and became so fond of, chasing the ghosts of monsters.

Larten laughed because he knew he was facing imminent death, the very thing that the past two hundred years of his life had been spent dodging and defying. However, he knew he needed to stop running from it. He needed to face fate—his _own _fate, not the stupid bullshit that Mr. Tiny kept throwing his way. The fat man knew nothing about him, as much as he liked to think and act like he did. When it all boiled down, though, Larten knew that Mr. Tiny was nothing but an asshole with a huge ego, compulsive-eating disorders, and a heart-shaped watch. Sure, he was an incredibly powerful asshole who could also bring back people from the dead to create new life. Sure, he could travel between universes. But who cared about that?

The only thing he cared about when it came to Mr. Tiny was the fact that the cretin knew nothing about him. Mr. Tiny knew nothing of what went on within Larten, for how could anybody even _begin _to fathom the internal struggle that he fought daily? How could anybody possibly imagine the sleepless nights (or, rather, days) and constant bickering with one's self? He knew that nobody could possibly understand what he was going through, how he cursed himself for ruining so many lives and killing so many people, even if it was only when necessary or purely by accident or during war. Most of all, he hated himself for taking his assistant's life from him. It had been blackmail, and it had been wrong—and Larten would never forgive himself for it. He knew nobody could understand any of it, and didn't bother trying to explain it to anybody. Nobody knew except—

Larten thought back to Kathy and how they had spent the night before. He had spotted her on his way to the building he now crouched in. The moment he'd seen her eyes, violet in color and drenched in barely-hidden sorrow… he could not drag himself away. The events that occurred and the conversations that had followed their introductions to each other had strayed drastically from his original plans. He had never intended to meet her, to talk to her, to confide in her, to kiss her, to make love to her, to have her fall asleep in his arms, to spend the night instead of leaving like he should have, or to find himself falling in love with her. He had, above all, never intended to leave her when he woke up in the morning. He had accounted for every type of distraction, every flaw in his plan, but _her. _Then again, nobody could ever account for meeting a person like Kathy… mainly because there _was _nobody like Kathy. She was one of a kind, and Larten was fortunate to have found her.

Meanwhile, though, he was busy. He perched in the rafters of the slaughter house, knife wielded before him. He couldn't help but let a small smile appear on his lips— he would end this, here and now. Murlough would terrorize his home no more. And once the deed was done, when all of the life had been sapped from Murlough's body, Larten would be free. So what if his actions started a war between their two species? Even that would be far less of a burden than what he was currently dealing with. At least his home, his city, his _childhood, _would be safe. There would no longer be a maniacal serial killer wandering _his _streets and killing _his _people. Technically, they were not his people— not anymore. Anyone he had ever known in this town had died longer ago. But they were his neighbors, and he considered them as such. Anybody inhabiting this town was his friend and ally. He would go to the end of the earth to keep them all safe.

The best part of all of this, though… what he was most looking forward to… was the moment it was over. He knew he would have someone waiting for him. As soon as he'd made sure Murlough had taken his last breath, Larten would run to Kathy. He would take her into his arms and kiss her. He would let her know every thought that had gone through his head last night. He would let her know every secret he'd held back— _everything. _She would learn of his people and their wars and history. She would believe him, eventually; she would have to. And the moment she'd wrapped her head around all of it, he would present her with a choice: to join him, or to stay in her shabby apartment on the poor side of town. She would, of course, choose to be blooded, for she felt for Larten every bit of what he felt for her. (_Didn't she?) _Once the deed was done, he would take her back to the hotel and introduce her to Darren. They would leave and make a semi-permanent home with the Cirque, and they would live happily: newlywed lovers and their 'adopted' child. They would never have to worry about trivial things like shelter or loneliness again.

_It would all start with a simple murder…_

Larten Crepsley tensed when he heard footsteps creaking below him. He waited patiently, curling his toes around the edge of the beam he was perched upon so that he could leap on Murlough the moment he walked past…

However, that moment never came. He felt a something dull hit the back of his head, and grabbed it mere milliseconds later. He pulled his hand in front of his face to see a carefully folded paper airplane. _Darren?_ He wondered— nobody else he knew would pull such a childish stunt. He unfolded the paper and read the note on the inside… Kathy's address.

He felt his feet hit the ground almost instantly. He flitted to the filthy apartment and didn't bother knocking on the door; he actually forgot to stop and ran right into it, knocking it right off its hinges. He collapsed on top of it on the floor and coughed when dust from the unwashed floors filled his lungs. He raised his head and called desperately, "_Kathy!"_

There was a soft whimper from the next room over, but he caught it with his vampire senses and sprinted over to the source. He froze in place, though, when he saw what he'd feared he would: Kathy. She was surrounded by a puddle of blood. Her once life-filled eyes were now empty as they made contact with his. He held her hand and whispered softly, "Kathy… my dear… I am so deeply sorry… I did not… this was not supposed to…"

She let out a feeble smile; her skin growing whiter with every passing second. "Larten… Crepsley… Vur Horston… whatever your real name is." When he opened his mouth to apologize, she cut him off. "I don't care. The man… he… red eyes. He had red eyes." Her eyes squeezed shut, and a few tears escaped from them. She still managed to keep her voice steady, though, as she whispered, "I know who you are and what you are. He told me. And he told me you'd come…"

"Kathy, my love… I did not mean for any of this to happen. I did not want this to happen to you. I did not expect for you to be pulled into this… I am sorry I did not inform you of it..."

"What, you think I expect you to walk around and introduce yourself as Larten the friggen _vampire? _No. I just… can I… ask you a favor?" Her eyes stared pleadingly into his.

He could tell that she only had moments left and fought back tears of his own. He had known her for such a short time, and yet she had made such an impact on him… "Yes, my dear. Anything."

"Drink me," she demanded in a rasp.

He pressed his lips to one of the many open wounds on her damaged body and began to suck, feeling overwhelming waves of emotion crash over him as her blood and memories and _spirit _flooded into him and his soul, his mouth and his throat. When he was done, he gently pressed his bloody lips to her cold, dead ones and let out a long, pained howl.

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><p><em><strong>AN: So… what do you think? Good? Crappy? Review and let me know..! :D**_


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